Zingers
by Channel D
Summary: Given a show's ticket by his friend Fornell, Gibbs discovers an unexpected new interest outside work. Written for the NFA Extracurricular Activities challenge. One shot.


**Zingers**

**by channelD**

_written for:_the NFA _Extracurricular Activities_challenge. The aim of the challenge is to show what one (or more) of the NCISers does outside work.  
_rating:_ K plus  
_characters:_Gibbs, Fornell (non-slash)  
_genre:_ drama

* * *

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

* * *

Gibbs looked at the ticket in his hand. "Aw, I don't know, Tobias; this isn't my style at all…"

Tobias Fornell of the FBI looked at his friend in amused sympathy. "You won't know that you don't like it unless you try it. Look; it's good for tonight only, I can't make it, and it's non-refundable. I'd like to see someone get to use it."

"Well, let me give you money—"

Fornell was quick to jump in. "Uh uh; I won't hear of it. It's a gift. Go. Enjoy. Let me know what you think." He walked off, headed back for his own agency.

Gibbs again looked at the ticket. _Well, maybe I do need a break from working on my boat…_

* * *

At 7 p.m. he stood in line with the other people waiting to get in. When the doors opened, people climbed the stairs to the dark theatre on the second floor of this DuPont Circle building. The ticket takers were efficient, moving people to seats swiftly. A long-haired young man worked the line Gibbs was in, and smiled at him. "First time here, sir? We still have a few nice seats in the front row. Or would you prefer something further back?"

A gleam in the young man's eyes set Gibbs' alarms off. "Further back, please," he said, and silently rejoiced on seeing a flicker of defeat on the fellow's face. He was lead to a seat in the third row.

The room was set up to be amazingly packed. When everyone was seated, it would be nearly impossible to move. Small round tables each had two or three chairs, all positioned so that their occupants could see the stage. Gibbs nodded politely to the couple who were then seated with him, and they smiled back.

He had misgivings up until the point that the house lights went down and the stage lights went up. Recorded music blared, and the crowd applauded lustily as the emcee ran on stage. Friday night at the Royal DuPont Comedy Club was about to begin.

* * *

Gibbs had more misgivings about this than he had opinions of his ex-wives. He didn't consider himself a humorous person, or a person drawn to humor. In his experience, humor was a weapon wielded at someone else's expense, or a self-deprecating move meant to deflect attention from something else. People who dealt in comedy must have a hard time facing real life. They should just try to buckle down and slog through it, like everyone else, instead of playing the court jester and looking like fools.

And yet…he had to admit to himself that when he caught a comedy clip on the news, he usually enjoyed it. Some things in life were so absurd that they had to be laughed at.

But were there enough humorous things in the world to fill a couple hours? He doubted it. Figuring he could slip out if it got painful, he ordered a drink when the black-clad waiter came around and settled back to watch.

The first person up was a 20-ish man, looking barely old enough to be in a club that served alcohol. His routine—Gibbs thought that was the right word—featured reminiscences of his college days. They were actually pretty clever, mostly; wry and wistful. The youngest members of the audience were the most appreciative, showing this in hoots and hollers, but everyone present seemed to like him. He left to great applause.

The next person was a 30-something woman who had a decidedly more adult outlook. She used a lot of blue language, and Gibbs frowned. He wasn't above swearing when it was called for, but this was like listening to teenagers on the Metro for whom the 'f word' was every other word. The woman had some good points, but they were overshadowed by the expletives. _I knew it; I am too old for this type of thing,_ Gibbs thought, and downed the last of his drink so he could leave. But then he heard the couple at his table, probably 20 years younger than him, murmur to each other. "She used to have such a bright future with the material she used to do," said the woman. "It's that agent she got," said the man. "He convinced her that she had to go 'blue' in order to get anywhere on the comedy circuit." And indeed the comedienne got noticeably less applause than the college boy had.

Next came a middle-aged man who was well-known to many in the crowd. (Gibbs was amazed to think that people came here over and over and had seen these performers several times.) They whooped when he came on stage, and he grinned and waved. "Sit back," the man at Gibbs' table advised. "This can travel a ways."

Gibbs didn't understand, but pushed his chair back a little as the couple did. He watched as the man on stage didn't launch into a monologue as the others had done, but instead struck up what was almost a conversation with individual people in the front row. He would question them on something, or pick out something he saw in them, and rib them mercilessly for it. The people he picked on howled in appreciation, as did the audience, but Gibbs was glad he had not taken a front row seat. Some people didn't mind a little anonymous humiliation in the name of comedy, but Gibbs was pretty sure he wasn't one of them.

This comedian had a small cart bearing tricks, as well. At appropriate times he whipped out noisemakers, sparkling toys, and a confetti machine—the output of which even reached the third row.

A few other comedians followed, and Gibbs found himself looking forward to each new act. He hadn't realized there could be so many differences in comedic presentations. When the show was finally over, he was surprised at how quickly the time had gone, and how much fun it had really been. Rather than throw away the playbill program, he folded it and put it in his pocket, though he wasn't sure why at the time.

* * *

He found his mind returning to the show in the following days, and even surprised his team by a random chuckle now and then. He was tempted to repeat for them a joke or two, for he was sure he remembered some of them correctly, but he realized that would seem out of character for him. So he tried to keep his chuckles to himself.

Friday rolled around again, and he itched to do something, but by force of habit, found himself back with his boat. You couldn't go back and recapture magic. He was not one to see movies a second time, and owned precious few DVDs for that reason. Once seen, something was gone forever. The comedy club had been a nice thing; that was all.

A week later he ran into Fornell again. "You never told me," Fornell accused mildly, "whether you liked the club or not. You did go, didn't you?"

Gibbs nodded and smiled. "I did like it. It was something different, and…I liked it more than I thought I would."

Fornell grinned. "Excellent! I thought you might, if you gave it a chance. That's my favorite club."

"There are others?"

"Oh, sure; probably a dozen or more in the greater Baltiwash area. But this one's the best. The location is perfect for attracting a good audience, and the management has an eye for the best acts. I was thinking of going this Friday; ya wanna come with me?"

Gibbs frowned. "I don't want to hear stuff I've already heard. What's the point?"

"Oh, this isn't like a play, Jethro. You'll probably see the same people performing throughout a weekend, but come the next week, it's a different group. Sometimes it even switches on a weekend."

"Really?"

"Definitely."

"Well, then…yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind going on Friday." Gibbs hoped his enthusiasm didn't show.

* * *

The ticket taker greeted Fornell at the door with a back slap; evidently he was a frequent attendee. The young man even greeted Gibbs with a "Welcome back!" and a smile. He then turned back to Fornell. "Your usual area, sir?"

"Yes, thanks, Jerry."

They were given a table on the other side of the room, second row. It was close in without being suffocatingly so. Fornell also knew the waitress for their side of the room by name, and she knew his "usual" drink. He even knew some of the audience members! A few minutes were spent waving to or chatting with them.

"Are you here _every_ Friday night?" Gibbs asked him.

"Naw; only once or twice a month. Depends on my work schedule. But I've been coming here for a coupla years, so it seems like a second home."

When the lights went down, Fornell whispered to Gibbs, "I think you'll like this first guy. He started out here, and has been rather successful on the circuit. He'll probably be on Leno within a year." And the guy _was_ good, with a lot of political zingers and other topical remarks. He left to heavy applause and whistles.

The entire show was good, and a lot of it was in a different style from what Gibbs had experienced in his first visit. By the third performer, though, Gibbs noticed that Fornell wasn't often laughing along with him and the audience at the jokes. Instead, he would grin and not comment, or if he did comment, it was to say something like, "Now, that's funny," in a low tone; speaking to himself. Gibbs found it curious, but didn't acknowledge it. If that was the way his friend enjoyed the show, then that was his business.

Promptly at 9 the show ended, and the crowd filed out the exit onto the street. People, mostly young folks, were already lined up for the 10 o'clock show. Gibbs and Fornell went to a pizza place down the street, and dissected the night's show over greasy slices of pepperoni. "Well, I'm glad to see you've been sucked in to my little side interest, Jethro," said Fornell, sprinkling extra peppers on his slice.

"Aw, well, I wouldn't go that far…"

"Well, call it what you want. I think you're hooked, and you'll be back." He went on to talk about a particular comedienne he liked, and Gibbs smiled a little, half-listening. Yes, he probably would be back.

* * *

He missed the next Friday when the team was out late on a case. The same thing happened the following week. Feeling withdrawal, he tried to get in on Saturday night, but found that at-the-door tickets were sold out when he got to the box office. Grumbling, he went home and took it out on heavy sanding of his boat.

The next Friday found him at the theatre, eager to get in. He'd called Fornell ahead of time but only gotten voice mail. Well, no matter; he was capable of enjoying his own company. Deciding to be daring tonight, he asked for a different drink (a house specialty), tried the individual pizza (not bad), and even took a seat in the front row. Sure enough, the second performer of the night picked on him after ribbing a woman with a beehive hairdo who sat to Gibbs' left. Gibbs' silver hair was remarked on, and his age, and while it all was devastatingly personal as a put-down, it was also funny as all get-out. Gibbs roared, red-faced, along with the rest.

Though he knew if DiNozzo ever said anything like that to him, he'd clobber him.

He also took some time this evening to watch the audience (what he could see of them, from his seat). To his surprise, some of the people behaved as Fornell had: not always laughing, but rather nodding at the jokes, or just looking pleased. Gibbs realized suddenly that they still appreciated the humor, but were silently analyzing it. Was it really possible to break down jokes to their atoms, to see what made them funny or not? It didn't seem so, any more than it seemed possible to analyze love, but some in the audience seemed to be doing it.

So Gibbs tried it. It was a little hard to get into that rhythm, but as the show went on, he found it became easier. Oh, he still laughed now and then; he'd hate to deprive the hard-working performers of that. But while he liked being surprised by twists in the jokes, he also liked guessing correctly where jokes were going. There were a number of techniques involved. Three different comedians would probably tell a joke three different ways, altering the delivery by timing, emphasis, or body language. Some things worked better on a joke than others, and sometimes he found himself wondering how the joke would have gone if the performer had delivered it differently.

He left that night with a number of things to think about. It was hard to sleep, with bits of jokes popping up in his mind.

* * *

Over the next couple of months he went to the club frequently; some nights with Fornell, but usually alone. Gibbs was aware that there were other clubs in the area, but he wasn't interested in them. The Royal DuPont was comfortable, like an old glove. He liked everything about it, from the staff to the location.

He started to see the return of some comics (as he since learned they were usually called here) he had seen in his first few visits, and he dreaded repeats. But his fears were laid to rest when he found that they had mostly new material. This was in fact wonderful, he decided, for now that he knew their style, seeing them with new material made their routines more of an art.

As a random thought, he wondered if there was anyone in the Navy or Marines doing service-related comedy. Jenny was always looking for entertainment for NCIS events; maybe he should ask around about that.

But in the meantime, he had this more mainstream comedy to enjoy. And study. And enjoy some more. He started jotting notes about some of the jokes before they slipped out of his memory, and he would take his notes home and reread them. Sometimes he would laugh again; sometimes he would say, "Now, _that_ was funny."

* * *

One night found him in line again, waiting to get in. The night was chilly, but he felt an eagerness, a giddiness, to get in similar to what he'd felt on his second visit, which now seemed long ago. _This will be fun,_ he told himself. He'd been looking forward to it. This night, one he'd marked on his calendar a month ago, would be even more special than most Friday nights, and not just because this was a Thursday night.

The door opened, and the manager came out. "All right! Everyone here for the monthly Open Mike Night, come on in! We'll see if you can wow our audience."

Confident, the notes he'd written memorized and practiced, Gibbs strode in with the rest.

-END -


End file.
